Always You (7 page)

Cal halted at dusk on a plateau shaded by pine trees. Just beyond the trees, a stream murmured over smooth stones.
A soothing sound
, Melora thought wearily as she slid from the saddle and her feet touched hard earth.

“Collect some wood for the fire,” Cal ordered without sparing her a glance. He was already leading the horses toward the stream.

As Melora picked up a long, thin stick, she thought how dearly she’d like to hit him with it. But for now she’d best lie low and comply. Better to allay his suspicions and give the impression she wasn’t going to rebel anymore; then he might relax his guard enough to give her the opportunity she needed.

Besides, after no breakfast and a quick, unsatisfying lunch, she needed a good, hearty dinner to give her strength for whatever scheme she concocted tonight. If she refused to help with making camp, Cal just might take it out of her rations.

But that wasn’t entirely fair, she told herself. Despite all he’d done to her, he wasn’t cruel—only pigheaded and determined to carry her off for some idiotic reason. Eyeing him as she stooped for another twig, she studied his lanky frame, the deep muscles of his chest and shoulders, the unruly mop of chestnut hair that fell into his eyes as he lifted the saddles from the horses. He was the picture of tall, cool efficiency, she decided, wishing he were as muddleheaded as Zeke and Ray. He was quick yet gentle with the horses, she noted, watching as he stroked the muzzle of his bay, Rascal.

What did he want from Wyatt? Why had he spoiled their wedding and dragged her off this way? The questions plagued her all through the time she gathered the twigs and made preparations for their supper. But until Cal let slip a bit more information, she knew she would have no answers.

It was a delicious supper. Cal shot a rabbit and roasted it on a spit, and with it they had canned beans and hardtack and coffee. She and Cal didn’t speak at all during the meal, and that suited her just fine. She was thinking, thinking of how she would escape.

And by the time she licked the last bit of rabbit meat from her fingers and drained the final drops of coffee from her tin cup, she had a plan.

She wouldn’t fall asleep tonight; she’d only pretend to sleep. She’d wait until Cal dropped off, and then she’d put one of the saddles over her shoulder, make her way to the horses, and take the mare she’d ridden today, Sunflower, who knew her and, she hoped, wouldn’t whicker or snort or some such thing. It would be necessary to lead Sunflower off a ways as quietly as could be before saddling up and mounting, but she would do it.

And then she’d be off.

Melora knew that they’d been headed steadily north and east, so she’d ride back just the opposite. It might take a few days without food and water, but if she were lucky she’d hit a town or run into some friendly traveler who’d point her in the right direction and perhaps share some rations with her...

It’s a stupid plan,
Melora told herself frankly, seeds of fear sprouting inside her as she stared into her empty cup. She knew how easy it was to get lost, to end up dead of starvation or thirst when you set out without maps or supplies, or you could run into outlaws or Indians, you could end up with vultures picking at your bones...

But a voice inside her told her she had to try to get away. Melora Deane could not allow herself to be meekly borne off from her home and her family like some kind of helpless lamb. She had to fight. She had to get back.

At least she had to
try.

Sighing, she tried to think of the bright side: She was strong, she was an able rider, and she knew this land. For the rest, she’d have to rely on luck and her own wits.

The cleanup chores were finished, and the deep violet night sky bloomed with tiny silver stars when Cal finally spoke to her, other than to tell her to scrub the plates in the stream and repack the cantina.

“Time to turn in. We’ll be making an early start tomorrow. Sunup.”

I’ll be starting out earlier than that,
Melora thought, but she only nodded to him and watched from beneath her eyelashes as he threw down his bedroll not far from the fire. Before she could make a move to fetch hers and unroll it, however, he did it for her, placing it right beside his own.

“I don’t think so, Cal,” Melora told him haughtily. “I’ll be sleeping as far from you as I can get—”

“Which isn’t very far.” He cut her off, and suddenly her blood froze as she saw the rope in his hand.

“What—what are you doing with that? You’re not going to tie me up again?”

“Just at night,” he said grimly, deliberately not looking into her dismayed face. “So we can both get some shut-eye. Otherwise I’ll have to sleep with one eye open so you can’t escape, and you probably won’t doze off at all, watching for an opportunity. This way both of us can just relax.”

“No!” She scrambled up and backed away from him, her gaze fixed in dread on the rope. “No, don’t do this, Cal. I promise not to try to escape. So there’s no need.”

“I can’t trust you, Melora. There’s no point in arguing. You see, in my family I’m known as the stubborn one. That ought to give you a clue. So let’s not waste time.”

Even as Melora thrust her hands behind her back and pressed her lips together, determined not to make things any easier for him, he seized her, yanked her hands before her, and wound the rope around them in a flashing movement that made her eyes darken with anger. She couldn’t follow the pattern of the knot, and when he secured the other end of the four-foot rope around his belt, she could have spit with frustration.

So much for escaping.

And just how would she manage to get any sleep at all, tethered to this arrogant outlaw, who probably snored to raise the dead?

When he dropped down without warning onto his bedroll, she was dragged down to her knees. Tears of desolation and helplessness pooled along her lower lashes.

But I’d rather die than ask him for mercy or pity or anything at all,
she thought fervently. After all, she was a Deane, and the Deanes were as tough as old boot leather.

She threw herself down on the bedroll, stifled a sniffle, and closed her eyes.

But, oh, she was conscious of Cal’s long, hard-muscled frame beside hers. Strange, she ought to be sleeping alongside Wyatt in a feather bed tonight, feeling the warmth, the solidness of his body, knowing the gentleness of his hands, his kisses, and learning what it was to love a man. Instead she was freezing to death on this godforsaken plateau, trussed up like a calf waiting to be branded, sleeping beside a stranger with no heart and the coldest eyes she’d ever seen.

Suddenly she felt a hand grip her shoulder, and lightning seemed to strike through to the bone. She drew in her breath as he rolled her over, and Melora tensed, every muscle taut for battle.

Cal held her by the shoulders, studying her face. “You’re crying.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

In the waxy starlight she saw his lip curl. “Uh-huh.”

“I don’t understand,” she said in a low tone, wishing she could wipe the moisture from her eyes, “how you can tear a bride away from her groom before their w-wedding. Haven’t you ever wanted to get married?”

He gave a scornful laugh. “Can’t say as I have.”

“Haven’t you ever loved someone?” Melora cringed as her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue. “Loved someone so much it hurts inside?”

“No.” Cal’s tone was as hard as the gates of hell. “No one besides my family.”

“Family? You mean
you
have a family?”

Silence. Then he answered at last. “A pretty big one, matter of fact, though it used to be bigger.” His thumb gently stroked away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks. “Look, Princess, I may not have grown up rich and spoiled like you, the owner of a huge, prosperous spread, but we’re not all that different. I have family that I care about, just as I imagine you care for your... sister?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Her name is Jinx.”

“What I’m doing right now, I’m doing for my family. Because—oh, hell, it’s a long story, and you’re not interested anyway. Let’s just say that maybe in the end I’m doing you a favor. Maybe your not marrying Wyatt Holden is the best thing that could ever happen to you.”

Melora jerked away, a deep, shuddering breath running through her. “You’re crazy!”

“Could be.” Cal restrained the urge to stroke her hair. It glinted like spun gold in the faint light that crackled off the campfire. He wanted to plunge his fingers through those thick, glorious strands, to bend close and kiss the back of her neck, to inhale the flower fragrance of her.

There was something about her, something that was getting to him. Something besides her beauty, her spunk, the graceful, decisive way she moved, the elegant tilt of her head.

No, he’d never loved anyone. He’d known plenty of whores and plenty of virgins; he’d slept with the former and steered clear of the latter. But a woman whom he could talk to, understand, tell his troubles to, take care of, kiss, hold... love?

Never.

What the hell was she doing to him? Why was he thinking about all this now, when he should be getting shut-eye, so they could make an early start in the morning?

Sunup, he’d told her, and sunup it would be. “Get some sleep. We’ll cover rough country tomorrow.”

“Where are we headed?” she ventured to ask, still trying to sort out what he’d said about his family and about Wyatt.

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Guess you might as well know. The Black Hills.”

“Cal,
why
?” She lunged up, shivering in the frosty air that whistled through the pines. The wrenching note in her voice was not from cold or fear but from sheer tortured frustration. “What’s the point of all this? What do you want from me—or, rather, from Wyatt?”

Cal pushed himself up to sit beside her, and suddenly he looked fierce and frightening. “I don’t want anything from you, ma’ am,” he drawled with cool mockery, “except your company for a ways. But your precious fiancé, that’s another story. I want to hurt him. To make him suffer. To twist his insides with worry and pain and loss. And in the end to watch him die.” Cal finished with awful, brutal calm.

Melora gasped, all the color rushing from her face, leaving her smooth skin as pale as ice and her golden brown eyes wide with horror.

He reached out to grasp her shoulders again and gave her a shake. “That scares you, doesn’t it? Well, then don’t ask me any more questions about it because I guarantee you won’t like my answers. But you can stop thinking about marrying that son of a bitch because it will never happen. He’s a dead man.”

“You’re going to murder him?”

His mouth curled unpleasantly, sending twisting fear through her. “I’m going to see that he gets what he has coming.”

“Damn you, what did Wyatt ever do to you?” Suddenly, as he stared back into her eyes, she saw the wariness, the iron purposefulness close down in a harsh mask over his features. Everything about him tightened. If he’d been planning to answer her, he changed his mind.

“It’s a long story, Melora,” he said curtly. “Go to sleep, unless you’ve got something else in mind.”

His taunting tone and the sudden hard gleam in his eyes told her exactly what he was hinting at. Melora flushed to the roots of her hair, apprehension squeezing through her blood as she gazed at the lean outlaw beside her.

“The only thing I have in mind,” she retorted, shaking with a fury that shared space with fear, “is getting back to my fiancé and going on my honeymoon with
him.
We were going to San Francisco. And you’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined everything. But Wyatt and I will get married, and you’ll be the one who is dead!” she assured him, her eyes flashing.

Cal, looming over her, with that scornful, almost amused sneer on his face, seemed more unmoved than ever.

Because Melora was unnerved and at a distinct disadvantage, she forgot her resolve to master her temper and did what she usually did under such circumstances: she attacked.

“And when Wyatt’s killed you—or I have—I’ll take my cameo back off your carcass!” she hissed.

Suddenly a ghost of a grin flickered over his face. “Reckon I’d like to sit here and jaw with you all night, but we’d both better get ourselves some shuteye. Sweet dreams, Princess.”

“I hope you have nightmares.”

“How could I, sleeping next to you?”

Melora slumped back down on the bedroll as Cal slouched down beside her and closed his eyes. Odious, disgusting man! If her hands were free, she’d claw his eyes out. If she had her gun...

Oh, what’s the use?
she thought, breathing hard as she lay there on the ground, her body taut with hatred.
Your hands aren’t free, and you don’t have a gun, and you’re not going to be able to escape tonight, so you may as well go to sleep. Because as smart and cunning as Cal thinks he is, and as much as he believes he’s thought of everything, one of these days he’s going to let his guard down, he’s going to slip up, and when he does, you’d better be ready.

She closed her eyes, no longer feeling sorry for herself. She was filled with a deep, passionate purpose. If it was the last thing she did, she’d turn the tables on this loathsome desperado.

* * *

She didn’t know when she drifted off to sleep; she only knew when she came awake.

It was still dark, the cool, deep blue darkness well before dawn, when the night is at its lushest and most dangerous. A rough hand covered her mouth, and an arm across her chest held her shoulders still.

Her eyes flew open to see Cal leaning over her, his broad chest crushing her breasts, his fingers digging against her lips. “Shh. Horses. Someone’s coming this way.”

Melora heard then. Muffled sounds in the brush, hoofbeats over rock, a low, guttural voice, another one answering.

Quick as a wink Cal cut her bonds and the rope that bound them together, and the next moment he was standing, with his rifle pointed at the two riders who broke through the trees.

“Hold it right there.” His rifle fixed itself in a businesslike way upon the broad chest of the man in front.

Melora couldn’t see his eyes, but his clothes looked dirty and tattered, and with his wide red face partially covered by a bushy black beard and the big rifle at his side, she knew instinctively he was trouble.